


Shamanic Acquisition

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are making some plans for the future, and some discoveries about themselves come along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shamanic Acquisition

## Shamanic Acquisition

#### by Tazy

  
  
This was in a zine in 02 or 03, so I suppose it has timed out by now. I put it under a different name for the zine, but I decided to consolidate all the Sentinel stuff under Tazy for the archive.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Going camping. Sandburg and Ellison had two versions. Camping, with a capital C, which involved exploring new territory, long hikes into the back country and the use of a certain amount of muscle and survival skills. And camping, small "c" which meant getting away from it all a little closer to civilization, a lot less hiking, and a lot more equipment and conveniences. It also involved a lot more fishing. 

It was a little early in the season for Camping, and so they were going to go camping on their three day weekend. Been looking forward to it for weeks. Their Friday, however, had started off on the wrong foot. Simon called just as they were climbing into the truck, and asked them to come in and help find a missing form. Not finding it, they had to stay and recreate it. So much for a good early start on their fishing trip. The traffic out of town was unusually heavy for mid-morning. Now the car in front of them was slowing down even more. 

Ellison frowned 

Sandburg frowned, too. 

"God," mumbled Jim Ellison as first his sight and then his hearing focused on the driver of the car ahead. "He's having a heart attack." He hit the brakes, hard. The man in the car behind him honked his opinion of that. Added a finger when the truck did not pick up speed again. 

"So are the people around him," Sandburg pointed out. The huge barge of an ancient Cadillac was slowing down, slowing down. Stopping. Almost across two lanes-he had drifted so far to the right that his wheel was on the painted line. Right in the middle lane of the highway. On the bridge. Horns honked, cars swerved. "Oh, shit," Sandburg observed. 

It was clear than in a few minutes that little phrase was going to echo down this road, as driver after driver realized there was an accident ahead. The litany had probably already started. Horns were sounding behind them as the line of traffic slowed to a crawl. 

"Oh. Shit." 

Sandburg looked up, startled to hear Ellison jump on the bandwagon. His Sentinel was turning around, staring behind. 

"What, what?" 

"Ambulance. Behind us. They were coming up fast but now they're stuck in this lane too, the cars aren't letting it through. Can't, most of them. Patient was in an car accident and is having blood loss problems. Won't make it without a hospital." 

Sandburg was already calling it in, his head turned around to look for the ambulance. Pretty far back. Crap. 

"Can you...? You'll have to..." Ellison began as he clicked loose his seatbelt. 

"Yeah," Sandburg agreed as he went for his own. Impatient people were passing them on both sides. It was worth your life just to step out of the door. 

Ellison was out of the truck and trotting up ahead to the car, knocking on the door. The slumped driver did not respond. The door was locked, of course. All the doors were locked. Ellison drew his gun and used the butt of it to knock out a back window and open a door. 

At that point, Sandburg turned his attentions to his own problem. He counted. The ambulance was 15 cars back, in his lane, the middle one. The red and blue lights kept spinning, but at least the siren was silent. The lane ahead of him was blocked by the Caddy. Not to mention the truck, so he had to get traffic flowing again while keeping Jim and the other man safe. What he needed to do was stop the traffic in the fast lane at his left long enough to move into it and clear lane for the ambulance. 

He tied his hair back, then turned in the seat, jerking it forward to check the storage space behind it. Yeah. One of his old spiral notebooks and a marker. He quickly wrote his message, had to go over it again because the marker was failing. Then pulled his badge off his belt and clipped it to the spiral binding of the notebook, put a loop of duct tape behind it to hold it in place, tucked it all under his arm and cautiously opened the truck door. 

The car in the right lane almost took the door off, and the wavering blare of the car's horn blasted his ears and then faded away as the car picked up speed. 

Sandburg muttered a brief description of the driver's ancestry and cast an eye out over the line of cars in the next lane. They had slowed, which was good. Yeah. The one three cars back, driven by a woman with fear on her face and a death grip on the wheel. She was going slower than the rest. He picked her. 

He moved to the back of the truck, held out his sign, and made eye contact with the woman. She slowed down, slowed some more he stepped closer and held out his crude sign, which she was squinting to read. Thank god she stopped. The others had ignored him. Typical. Who was going to stop for a long-haired guy with a too-small sign. The one doing this traffic cop act should be Jim. People stopped for Jim. He looked like an authority figure. Totally. For the first time Sandburg regretted fighting so hard to hold on to his hair. But even without hair he wouldn't look like a cop. He was in flannel and jeans, and not his best ones, either. 

But he had to be the cop this time. He had this job to do because Jim was the one with the medical training, doing the other job. 

So here was Detective Sandburg, playing in traffic. He trotted up to the car, ignoring the honks and fist waving going on in the cars behind this one. He leaned in and spoke loudly. 

"Sandburg, M'am, CPD. Sorry to have to ask this, but we need to get that ambulance back there through, got a man bleeding to death in there." 

Her eyes were huge and reflected her uncertainty, but she nodded. 

"I am going to need you to stay here, don't move. You're going to block traffic for a few minutes. Then I'll go down the lane behind you asking the others to do the same. Please remain in your car and stay here until the ambulance passes. Can you do that?" 

"Yes, officer," she said. Still had a death grip on the wheel. 

"Thank you," he said. The air was almost un-breathable with fumes, and the noise of the engines made it hard to hear. He started down the line of stopped cars with his sign, holding it up to the windows, making sure that his thumb held the badge in place and let them get a good look at it. 

The frowns and glowers were universal. He watched lips move as they read the sign and he bemoaned the state of public education. How hard was "Don't move on until AMBULANCE goes by," huh? It was typical of him that in the back of his mind he kept trying to think of a shorter and more succinct way to say what he had written. Better than thinking about how many things could go wrong. About how oppressive it was to have all these cars around him, how vulnerable he felt out here among them. And how very much he did NOT want to die on the highway because somebody got in a fucking hurry. 

After fourteen cars he trotted back up the line to the man just behind his truck, knocked on the window and got it cracked just an inch. "What the hell is going on?" the man bellowed. 

"Heart attack," Sandburg shouted, gesturing forward. "I'm going to clear the lane, move the truck in front of you over to there," he pointed, "so you can get by. I want you wait until I'm out of the way. Would you do that?" 

"Right," the man shouted back, and rolled up his window. Sandburg got into the truck and started it. The bench seat was set for long Ellison legs but he didn't want to take the time to adjust it. He drove carefully ahead and changed lanes, backed up a few feet, and then killed the engine. He glanced over to the caddy, slightly ahead and now almost next to him. Jim's curved back was obscuring the patient but he saw the motions. CPR. Moral dilemma. Once you started CPR you had to keep on. But Jim really needed to get that car out of the way now, before Sandburg waved on the traffic and it became impossible. Moving it would also help the ambulance. He measured the distances with his eyes. Could the ambulance get around? No semi trucks between here and the ambulance, and for that he was happy, but if the ambulance couldn't get through easily....he shook his head, coughed twice, looked back through the line of traffic. Only the one lane on the right was moving and you could see the traffic backed up for a mile. 

He made a quick decision and sprinted for the car. He opened the door and squeezed in, half sitting on Jim's legs and those of the owner as he tried to figure out the unfamiliar dashboard. Got the car started, looked behind. Thank god the driver back there was watching him, not yet moving. Sandburg got the car going and pulled it over to the side, in front of the truck. He got out, flashed the man behind a thumb's up sign and waved him by. Then he ducked back in to the car. 

"Jim? Can I help?" 

"No. Nothing you can do," Jim breathed out. "I'm sure he's gone. He was gone when I started. Pretty sure. But he has to have his chance." The door was not quite closed behind them, the noise of the traffic going by was getting louder as the stream of cars picked up speed. 

"Oh man, dial down, dial down! Here comes the ambulance and they've put on the siren." It roared by them, picking up speed, and Jim flinched as the sound of the siren hit his ears, but kept on. 

"Let me take over," Sandburg said, quietly. He glanced at his watch. Almost twenty minutes had gone by. It didn't look good. The angle on the seat was awkward. Only room for one to work, or maybe they could do it together if he got on the floor? 

He knew the rules, knew that once you started CPR you had to go on until you just couldn't go on any more. Or you could get your ass sued off. And even though Jim's senses said the man was dead-well, you kept on until the professionals got there. And on a bridge in a traffic jam? Wasn't going to happen. Unless a chopper came out of the sky. Which meant Jim was going to labor over a dead man. Because sometimes, miracles happened. He and Sandburg both knew that. 

And sometimes they didn't. 

"Let me take over," Sandburg said again, and he made sure he said it in a tone that would get Jim shuffling back, letting his partner slide into his place. Jim was sweating, flushed, and as he sat back on his heels, taking deep breaths of air. Sandburg knew he had made the right decision. 

Sandburg touched. Fingers traced along the neck. No pulse. No breathing. The body was warm, the semblance of life still there. He leaned down, hearing the nothing. Was this how it had been for him? Had he had this nothingness at the fountain? 

And it was very strange that as he leaned down, reached out to the man physically, something inside reached also, and he went through the motions he had to make, his body on autopilot, but he found himself, his mind, fracturing, splintering along lines that he hadn't known were there, and yet he must have known, because he did not come apart, but glided beyond movement and beyond what he was and what he was doing. It was as if his body remained behind to do the work it had to do and his spirit went...walking? 

White that was not clouds. 

He walked on the white and in the not-clouds and there were, ahead, some boldly painted lines that were probably words, if he could stop to read them. Words on rocks and trees and in the air. A fence of them, falling away, and he was looking down a rocky path which ended at the edge of a chasm. 

Long way down. So far down there was no bottom. He was floating, he was anchored, he was looking down into infinity, and then away, across the deep cut to the other side. It was flatter there, a sort of clearing. There were people coming out of the jungle, or maybe it was a housing development with lots of trees, because he got an impression of order, of straight lines. The people were filling the clearing, clustering around a man who stood there, shaking and confused and uncertain. His back was towards the chasm. Hands took hold of his suit, men and women drawing him away from the edge, away from the danger. The man was walking quite slowly away from it. He did not look back and everyone was soon lost to view amid wild greenery that hid everything. 

That was when Sandburg realized that he was not hearing anything, that it was too silent. He heard his own voice in his ears saying I am 

Blair  
Sandburg  
walking here  
walking towards drums  
or heartbeats and  
Jim? 

The warm hand on his shoulder, his face. He blinked. 

"Sandburg? You stopped. Sandburg?" 

"How long did I do it? The CPR?" 

"Ten minutes." 

"Added to your twenty. I guess we've covered our legal ass, but you were right, Jim. He was gone. He's crossed. I watched him...." 

"You what?" Jim asked. 

Blair turned to look at his friend, finding the familiar face necessary, something to hold onto with his eyes. "I went to see. Walked between worlds as a shaman does, to see...and he was on the other side, already going away. They came for him and he was walking with them...." he frowned, one hand going up to his head. "Jim?" 

"Are you all right? We need to drive but if you're...." 

"No, fine. I'm...I can do it." He was still not quite here and now, still felt like part of him was somewhere else. Driving was good. He could focus, could.... 

"Do you want to drive the truck?" Jim asked gently. 

Oh, wow. Jim offering to let him drive the truck. He blinked at the very idea. Thought about it. Said, "No. Not the truck. My job," he said, and waved at the faded glory that was the interior of the old elegant car, at the sprawled form on the seat. "Last ride with the Shaman. He and I." He was aware that he was making only marginal sense. 

It didn't seem to bother Jim, who nodded. "I'll follow," he said, and got out of the car and trotted back to the truck. 

Sandburg waited until the truck started, and then he fumbled with the key. He started the big old car slowly, smoothly rolling and then picking up speed. 

Chanting. He could be chanting, would be under other circumstances. Felt the primitive thump of something in his blood, along his nerves. But the near silent engine was all the chant he could offer this man sprawled out beside him, and it was the one he sensed the man would want. He knew, instinctively, that the man had loved his car. It was worn but very clean. It was a classic the way the Volvo was a classic. 

He watched the traffic, watched the truck in the mirror as Jim kept right on his tail. At the end of the bridge they took the first exit ramp. It took them down into a warehouse district, brick buildings and rusty loading docks. He turned into a parking lot, dirty asphalt littered with broken green glass and faded parking lines. The big car rolled to a halt and the truck came up beside it. That was when Sandburg realized that a third car was pulling in, too, stopping behind the truck. A woman got out of the car. He recognized her as she came slowly towards the car The woman who had slowed, read his sign, stayed put. 

He got out and met her. 

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, looking into the car at the body. 

Ellison spoke. "Thank you, but I'm afraid there's nothing any of us can do." He said to Sandburg, "I called it in. They'll be here in about four minutes." 

He said, "Okay," and turned to the woman. She was his mother's age, but short and stocky, her practical slacks and brightly patterned blouse made her seem normal and everyday and he smiled at her. "Thank you for your cooperation back there. You were great." 

She blushed and gave a part of a nod. "I was glad to help. Are you sure there isn't anything I can do?" 

"No," Ellison started to say, just as Sandburg spoke 

"If you want," he said, "You can stay with us for a few minutes. Wait for the ambulance to come. It's traditional in some cultures for...anyway. There's no one but us until his family is notified." 

"Well...yes. All right. I'm Elaine Letterby." 

"I'm Detective Sandburg and this is Detective Ellison, Cascade Police Department. Off duty," he added, perhaps unnecessarily. 

"Do you know who this poor man is?" she asked. 

"We could look at his wallet," Sandburg said. "If you don't mind witnessing this for us. Policemen have to be careful, you know. About money and things. We'll look and then bag it and seal it." Sandburg was the one who reached in to the pocket of the dead man and pulled out the wallet. He opened it and flipped through it slowly. "Not carrying much money. Here. Driver's license." He paused as he read it. "Expired on his birthday a few weeks ago. Allan D. Miller." 

"I wonder if there is a Mrs. Miller," Elaine said quietly. 

Sandburg opened his mouth to remark that statistically, there probably was, and as women tend to live longer than men. But he stayed quiet and just shook his head. A black and white was pulling up beside them. He let Jim deal with them. He stood with Elaine, neither of them saying anything, just waiting with Mr. Miller until the ambulance turned in to the lot and stopped beside the car. 

The two men in white looked for signs of life, took the body out of the car, placed him on the gurney, checked for pulse and breathing one last time and then drove off. The police took charge of the car. There was nothing left to do. So Sandburg thanked Ms. Letterby again and Jim came up and said, "We need to be on our way," and then they were back in the truck and heading for the highway. 

"You still want to go camping?" Ellison asked. 

Sandburg thought about it. "Yes," he decided, and then he closed his eyes, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. For once, he was glad Jim insisted on being the driver and he was glad that the Sentinel never had much to say. It was something he needed now, to shut his eyes and shut out the world. He couldn't let him mind go, wouldn't let it drift for fear he would leave himself. Go walking. It frightened him a little, what he had done. What he realized now he _could_ do. Now he worked hard at going nowhere, focusing on his Sentinel when he felt himself lift away to that other place. Couldn't leave the Sentinel. 

They traveled for miles. 

Ellison made a sound, half grunt, half annoyance. 

"What?" Sandburg asked, without opening his eyes. 

"I can see clouds." Black ones, his tone said. 

"Up where we're going." 

"Fraid so." 

"So much for the weather report," Sandburg sighed. "Jim?" he opened his eyes and sat up. 

"Yeah?" 

"About camping...." 

Ellison took his foot off the accelerator. "Don't tell me...." 

"No, no, I still want to go. In fact, we don't get away enough, you know? But I thought I'd run an idea past you." 

Ellison nodded and waited. 

"I'm getting a paycheck now. 

Ellison tensed. 

"We haven't talked about rent," he said. As Jim opened his mouth to protest, he held up a hand. "I have this idea. We wouldn't have to worry so much about lousy weather if we had a place in the mountains. Cabin. Or we could get a piece of land and build something. A base. Sometimes we would go up and stay there, maybe have some friends over. Sometimes we could just use it as a jumping off place if we want to go somewhere further in. Keep some stuff up there, not have to haul it back and forth. So then we could go up on a Friday night, not have to set up a tent in the dark if something delayed us, like this," he waved his hand at the highway. "Get a good early start in the morning after a night on a real mattress. Don't have to worry about wet bedding if it rains. And see, I wouldn't pay rent on the loft, but I'd pay the payment on the cabin." 

"Huh," Ellison said. It meant he was thinking about it. 

Sandburg went on, "I know these women who build log cabins for a living. Could have what we want. If the finances can be worked out." 

Ellison's face was flat and he was focused on the road. He was thinking. 

There was silence. Sandburg didn't want to break it. 

"It's just an idea," Sandburg finally said, as they slowed to take their exit. 

Ellison nodded. They drove on, and Sandburg thought about the way of the Shaman, and occasionally he looked over at Ellison's placid face and wondered what the other man was thinking. 

"It's a big step. You sure it's what you want to do?" Ellison asked as they made the Fairview turn and started up the winding road. 

"I've given it a lot of thought," Sandburg replied. 

Ellison made one of those short sounds again. 

They pulled into the parking lot of the Fairview General Store. It had been the town feed store at one time, and was now tarted up for tourists. This was where Jim usually got anything they had forgotten down in Cascade, and he always got another bag of ice and a couple candy bars, too. Then he would gas up and they would head out on the last leg of their journey. 

Only this time, after they had bought their provisions and fuel, Jim didn't head on up the mountain. He turned left instead of right on Main and cruised the entire length of the street at a speed usually used by teenagers on Friday night. 

"Uh-Jim?" Sandburg prodded, sitting up a little, looking around as Jim slowed even more. 

"There." Ellison pointed, and pulled into the nearest parking space. Sandburg craned his neck to see, and then his eyes went wide. Realty? Did Jim...was he really considering...right now? 

They went in. The woman at the desk was glad to see them, and maybe she hadn't had a client all day, or maybe she just liked Jim's looks. It was obvious that she really, really liked Jim's looks. She introduced herself as Laney Dillon and shook hands with each of them, but she assumed that Jim was the one looking for a place. Maybe because he was older. Normally that would have annoyed Sandburg a lot, but this time he just smiled and let Jim handle it, on the theory that she would go all out for Jim which she might not do for him, and they'd end up getting a better deal. 

Soon they were sitting down at the table, the big notebooks spread out around them and damn, mountain property cost a lot. And there sure were some ugly houses on those hills, too. What in the world caused someone to buy mountain property and then plop a city house down on the lot? Or one of these cutesy faux-country cottages? 

It was like Goldilocks and the three hundred cabins. This one was too big and this one was too small and this one was too near town and this was incredibly expensive and this one was even more expensive and the ones on this page had no zeros on the page but had everything shortened to just numbers with decimals and that was way so depressing. 

And Jim finally said, "Maybe we should just look at land. Build our own. We could have more acreage that way." 

So they looked at pictures of green trees. Rocky slopes. Brooks that added a hundred thousand to the price of a place just for burbling through it. Looked at her pages on water and well regulations and zoning laws and cutting laws and environmental impact statements until Jim pushed back the book and said, "It's time for a break. How about we take you out for lunch and then come back and tackle it again?" He said it with that warm big smile that he saved for pretty women but still didn't use that often. 

Laney was charmed. Sandburg grinned into his salad and admired the strategy Ellison was trotting out. Ordering expensive things on the menu to hint to her that they were a good risk, had the money. Talking about her. Turned out she was divorced with one child and real estate was her second job. Her son was out with his scout troop. Jim said something scout-positive and Sandburg kept his mouth firmly shut and didn't expound on the politically negative aspects of the scouting organization. 

They went back and looked at more books, and then looked at the computer monitor at some of the listings posted on the Internet. 

Eventually, Jim leaned back in his chair, stretched (apparently oblivious to the way Laney's eyes went wide as his t-shirt pulled tight across various parts of his torso) and said, "We're going about this wrong." 

"We are?" Sandburg asked. 

"I think so. Thank you for giving us your time," he said to the agent as he stood up, "but we're just going to drive around until we find something we like, and then see what's available in the area." 

Sandburg stood up, too and said, "You've been really helpful, but I think Jim is right. We need to actually get out there and look around." 

Her expression said she didn't think much would come of the method. "Do check again if you're in the area," she said, reluctantly standing as well. "We get new listings all the time." She followed them to the door. 

"So." Sandburg looked at his partner expectantly as they walked back to the truck. The sky was getting grey. 

"So how do you want to do this?" Ellison asked as he swung up into the cab. 

"How do _I_ want to do this? It was your idea," he reminded. 

"But you're the Shaman." 

Sandburg stopped abruptly. He blinked and thought for a moment. "You want to go looking for real estate on the astral plane?" he joked. 

Ellison looked a little nervous. "I thought," he said, "there might be a signpost up there. Something pointing the way." 

"Huh. Well, you know. It's something. To try. Because after doing the Shaman walk once... I should try it again, and this is as good as anything, it's just that I'm not sure...exactly how. Really." 

Ellison said, "I'll drive until you tell me to stop." 

"It can't be that simple." 

The Sentinel shrugged. Sometimes things were simple. Usually he liked them better that way. "Let's try," he said. 

So they got into the truck and started driving west, because if you went east from here you eventually ran out of mountains and there were more possibilities to the west. And Ellison would come to a junction and ask, "Left or right?" or "North or south?" 

Sometimes he hesitated awhile, but Sandburg always gave an answer. An hour passed. Then two. 

"I need a pit stop," Sandburg said eventually. 

"There's a rest stop, four more miles," Ellison told him. 

"I can wait," Sandburg said agreeably. 

It was a nice one, with concrete and natural stone construction, and even better, it was obviously cleaned daily. Concrete picnic tables were scattered here and there under some trees, and down a little slope away from the road was an open area big enough to set up a volleyball net or a few tents. After he used the bathroom and washed his hands, Sandburg started down the slope. Ellison gave a little shrug and followed. His Guide was standing in the middle of the open space, breathing in the fresh air, looking around him at the rising side of the mountain and at the tangled brush to the left and right. 

"I want to try something," Sandburg said. He added, "Glad there aren't too many people around," he said, even as the metallic thunk of a car door slamming sounded behind them. 

The Sentinel nodded and moved to the side of the glade, standing out of the sight of anyone at the top of the slope and where anyone coming down would have to pass him. He watched as Sandburg wandered, looking down at the ground, at the grasses. He had no idea why Sandburg finally picked one place to sit down, and when he closed his eyes, Ellison couldn't even guess where he went, but he could tell the difference when Sandburg's body just sort of-changed. He just stood, sentinel in pose and attitude, watching carefully so that his Shaman was not disturbed. 

And watching the way the pale afternoon sun struck gold from the bundle of tied-back hair. The way the muscles of Sandburg's thighs stretched the denim covering them, and the way the tail of his flannel shirt had come untucked and trailed onto the grass. 

The sun moved in its arc towards the west. People came and left at the rest stop and there were the high shouts of children and the lower voices of their parents. The rumble of cars on the road and the sounds the air made at their passing. The breeze lifted, swaying the tough grasses which had survived hundreds of pairs of feet from the travelers who stopped here and were lured into stretching their legs and exploring for a few minutes. 

Sandburg turned his head into the wind, took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He stood up, dusted off the seat of his jeans and walked over. "We go north a little, and more west. At least that's what I think it means. I watched a deer being chased by a panther and a wolf, who were hunting together. I could kind of see where they were. From up above, like I was a bird." Sandburg shook his head as if to dispel the lingering wisps of other-world vision, and looked around again. "This is really strange," he added, almost to himself. 

Ellison nodded and headed up the slope towards the parking lot. They got into the truck again. The clouds were getting thicker, darker. Ellison drove a little under the speed limit, annoying the drivers behind him on the winding roads, but not wanting to miss any turn-off or clue. 

"Turn here," Sandburg finally said, as they came up on a private road closed by a wooden gate. The road on the other side was hardly worth that definition; it was a dirt track, probably graded once a decade. Only a truck or 4-wheel drive could negotiate it. They sat and looked at it. 

"Private property," Ellison noted, with a smile. 

"I know. I plan on trespassing-with respect. We don't want to open the gate, just climb over it. I want to hike up a way and look at what's on the other side of this hill. Maybe do the same thing I did at the rest stop." 

"And you'll think of a good explanation if we're arrested or ordered off?" Ellison asked as he pulled the truck off to one side. 

"Of course." Sandburg was scrambling out, heading for the gate, which he climbed easily. Eight weeks at the Academy had left him in good shape, but he laughed when Ellison vaulted over it easily, one hand briefly steadying his big body on the top bar before he dropped smoothly to the other side. "Show off." 

They hiked up the road, which wound up the mountain. After the first two hundred yards the road improved, and the trees thinned. It took about twenty minutes to get to the top of the ridge and look down into a small valley. 

Who knows why one bit of beauty appeals more than others? There were a thousand places in the mountains that no doubt would be considered more breathtaking, more exciting than this. It was a small partial mountain, a sort of ridge between larger mountains, loomed over on the east by a bigger and densely forested rise of land. The slope lead down to the flat areas of meadow, with a small stream running through. The road ran over a crude culvert there, and it looked like the make-shift bridge needed work. There was a beaver dam which formed a small pond in a cleared area at the edge of Sandburg's sight. Sandburg smiled. Ellison nodded. 

"What do you see?" Sandburg asked Ellison. 

"Not much. The road goes around the ridge and disappears. No sign of a house nearby but there is a trail going off the road, used by horses, I think. Deer, too." 

"We'll have to figure out where this is on the map. Go looking for the owners tomorrow, see if they'd sell part of it. Right now, let's hike back and then go find a place to camp. By the time we set up our tent and cook dinner it will be dark," Sandburg said. 

Ellison countered with, "By the time it's dark it's going to be raining. Let's drive to the next town, find out who owns land around here, have a steak, rent a motel room, and get a good early start tomorrow at fishing." 

"By good early start you mean you want to be on the road by four in the morning," Sandburg accused. 

"You have a problem with that?" Ellison asked mildly. 

"Maybe," the other man said as they turned to hike back. They went down to the truck and Jim got out the map and they leaned over it, tracing out the nearest town, the probable location of the property. "I'll never tease you about your government maps again," Sandburg promised rashly as they folded it away and headed for the nearest town. "Hey," he added when they reached the outskirts of Belle, "I've been through here before. Never stopped, though." 

"It's pretty small. At least there's a couple motels. You want to try for the rustic cabins or the pink deco?" Ellison asked. 

"The cabins, man." 

"Good choice." 

But the cabins had no vacancy and they ended up in the only available pink unit. The one next to the road. But as it had already started to rain lightly they took it and then went looking for a place to eat. The town was too small for any of the fast food chains and they ended up in the bigger of the two restaurants. The salad bar gave you a choice of lettuce salad, potato salad, cole slaw and three bean salad. The vegetables were cooked until they had morphed into a non-food form. But they had good fish and big steaks and a really cheerful waitress who knew the home phone number of a realtor. She made a phone call, and Betsy McColum joined them in time for dessert. She was a big lady, her voice loud and cheerful. She wore red tennis shoes, blue polyester pants and an orange t-shirt which claimed she'd participated in a raft race in `89. 

"Goodness. Somebody else interested in the Seiferbach place. You know, we get an inquiry about that place two, three times a summer. I don't know how folks even find out it's there. I gotta tell you, the old lady is not interested in selling. But here's what I'll do. I'll take your address and phone number, and mail it to her. Same as I always do, and she always thanks me nicely and says no thanks. She doesn't have a phone up there, or I'd call. Lives in a one room cabin, although there's electricity and indoor plumbing. She even has TV now, I think. Widow. Don't think she ever had any kids and she's old as god, so I've been expecting her to sell out one of these times. Never has, though. But you know, about a half mile further on, along the north side of that property there are some one-acre places Al Tempel is selling. Real nice, got a tiny little cabin on each one, start at sixty five thou. He's good with the financing, too. Flexible. Possibly because his son will be starting college next fall, which will give him three in college at the same time. Lord help him, cause he has three more in high school. He might come down to fifty to make another sale this summer." 

Ellison was shaking his head no but Sandburg said, "How do we get hold of him?" 

"He's in the phone book, I'll get Annie to bring us one," her hand went up into the air as she spoke and she waved for the girl. As she wrote down the number she kept talking. "Another thing you might like to look at is a long term lease. There's a place about fifteen miles north of here, 40 acres of trees and with a decent cabin, which they'll take a ten year lease on, only seven hundred a month. Boy who inherited it won't be 21 until then, and won't get possession until he's that old. Guardian is tired of maintaining it and would like to get somebody else to do the work to keep it up." 

"I don't think a lease what we're looking for," Sandburg said. "But here's the address and number to give to Mrs. Seiferbach. Or you can reach us as this number. Ask for Detective Ellison or Sandburg." They traded cards, finished dessert and parted amiably. 

They had to run for the truck, as the rain had decided to settle in for awhile, steady and hard. The pink motel at least had parking right in front of their door. They'd brought in their gear earlier and soon Sandburg was clicking through the channels on the TV and Ellison was in the shower. They traded places a few minutes later. 

"It's only nine," Sandburg said as he came out of the shower, toweling his hair, "but if you want us up at four, I think I'll be hitting the proverbial hay early tonight" He stopped in the door of the bathroom.. "Which bed do you want?" he asked as he tossed the towel over the towel rack. He was ready for bed, wearing boxers and nothing else. 

Ellison clicked off the TV and stood up. "About that," he said. He ran his hand nervously over his head, then went to look out the window. There was very little traffic out on the road, despite it being Friday night. He pulled the curtains shut and turned to look at his partner. 

"Jim?" 

"I had something I wanted to ask you. Only I'm not sure how." 

"Now I'm curious," Sandburg said, and picked up his brush. He began pulling it through his hair, half his attention on his tangles, the other half on Ellison. 

"Blair...." That was as far as Ellison seemed to be able to go. His hand raked over his head again. 

"Well, now I'm worried. I've been `Blair-ed,' man. That's serious." 

"Yeah, well, it is. I need to know...look, you...this afternoon. You said you wanted to buy the cabin. I'd maintain the loft, you'd maintain the cabin. You...you proposed this." 

"You having second thoughts? Because we don't have to do this. Just because...." 

"I'm not having second thoughts. I'm having...third thoughts. You said you'd given lots of thought to it. About the cabin." 

Sandburg nodded, "I have." 

"Well. So have I. Only I thought it out all the way to the end. And I don't know if you have." He looked at Sandburg, and there were little frown lines like trenches above his eyes. 

"That sounds-what exactly do you mean here, Jim?" He pulled the brush through one last time and gave Ellison all his attention. 

"Okay. The...you said you wanted to buy a cabin. You'd pay for and maintain the cabin, I'd pay for and maintain the loft. Right?" 

"Yeaahh?" Sandburg's curiosity was showing, and he was looking straight at Jim, giving him all his attention. 

It was disconcerting and Ellison looked away again. "It's...it changes things. Before, we had-before, I was older, you were younger. No rent, and that was fine, because you...the help was worth it, with the senses, and the Guide and Sentinel thing. We were both learning it. You were in school and I had a job." 

"Jim?" 

"Okay, let me try again. We had all sorts of...of ways of relating. Some of them....I mean, I respected you and everything but we weren't equals, even though it balanced out. I mean we were equals, but it was because of all the ways we weren't. Do you see what I mean?" he asked, a little desperately. 

"Strangely enough, I do." He mad a little encouraging `go on' motion. 

"When you became a cop. My partner. Things evened up a bit." 

"In the paycheck area, among others. And you haven't told me to stay in the truck once since I signed on. So, yeah, I understand that." Sandburg was still giving all his attention. Waiting. 

"The thing with the cabin in the mountains...." 

"Are you saying that it brings it even more into balance? I can see that. In fact, if we had the cabin, there wouldn't be much of anything tipping things one way or the other. Except, man, you are always going to be older than I am. Can't tip that one." 

"The older _you_ get, the less it matters. I think. But...." Ellison paused. He looked beyond Sandburg to the TV. It was plain he was thinking about turning the TV on and this conversation off. 

"Jim?" Sandburg's voice was low. Encouraging. Almost Guide voice. 

"Did you think it all the way through? To the end?" 

"What?" He practically shouted it. Confusion was evident in the loudness of the reply, and Sandburg was up, moving. He'd start pacing, soon. 

"The only reason...the only way it works. For me to maintain the loft and you buy the cabin. The only way this works is if you're making long term plans. If you expect us to be partners a long time. Maybe for...well. A long time." Further words failed him. 

"That's weird," Sandburg said, almost to himself. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I had to be making assumptions here, right? I was suggesting this and assuming that things would be going along just the way we have been, with me living in the loft and....yeah, with the partnership I guess I was assuming...pretty arrogant of me, wasn't it, not to talk this over with you first. And you know this is so strange, because this is the sort of thing I usually think about and bring up, and I didn't, but you did. Got us some major role reversal here, Jim." He said it in an admiring tone, with a smile in Jim's direction, but the other man did not smile back. 

"I didn't know. If you thought it all out. Because if you think it out to the very end...." Ellison swallowed hard and got up, but there was no room in this small room to do anything but go look out the window again. He pushed aside the curtain. The mountain was black against the not-quite-as-dark rain. He turned away, letting the curtain fall once more. 

"Tell me how you figured it out. How it goes to the very end," Sandburg encouraged. When Ellison didn't, he said, "think out the steps. So I can understand it the way you understand it." 

After a moment, Ellison spoke. "It's as if you don't expect....things will...there's you and me and the loft and a cabin. The cabin - that you proposed you'd buy, for us to share. If you really thought it out, the cabin means you want things to stay the same. You living in the loft and you don't expect any changes that will...I am not saying this right." 

"I think you mean that I'm _investing_ in things staying the same." Sandburg suggested. 

"Yes. Planning on it. Which means you don't expect to...meet some woman, get married, move out? I mean, Chief, what are we going to do with a cabin-if you're...gone. If you get married, things won't be balanced any more. It will almost be like a divorce, only dividing the property will be easy because the loft will still be mine and the mountain cabin will be yours." 

Sandburg was staring at him, hard. Slowly he said, "And you don't want to invest-emotionally-in a cabin that might be taken from you at some point?" 

"I...." 

"And why are you assuming that _I_ am going to be the one to find a lady and unbalance things. It could be you, you know." 

"No." 

"No?" 

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. I guess. I said...yes to the cabin. When you suggested it. I already know how...that staying the way we are...is okay with me. I'm ready to share a cabin with you. If that's what you want." 

"So what you really want to know is if I'm in this for the long haul, or only until something better comes along. And underneath that is you really want to know," Sandburg said, his blue eyes going wide, "what _this_ is. And you don't want me getting married and leaving you. And taking the cabin with me. The cabin symbolizing whatever we build together in the future. Jim, have _you_ really, really thought this out? Because there are some nuances that are giving me some real jolts, here." 

"Yes. I told you. I...thought." Ellison swallowed hard. 

"Go along together. Equals. For the rest of our lives. With a cabin. Which equals the other `C' word. Commitment. Which, curiously, is bringing another `C' word to my mind," Sandburg was muttering along, almost to himself, but now he looked up again at his partner. "Does `celibacy' show up in this lexicon, Jim?" 

"It's not in yours," Ellison said, trying for a smile, a joke, but managing only a slight upturn of lips. 

"No. It's not. So did you really, really think this through? All the way?" 

"I said I did." 

"So to paraphrase everything, I said I want to buy a cabin. And you said, `I do.' That what you said?" 

Very, very quietly, Jim Ellison said, "Yes." 

"You know, for somebody who didn't want any big changes in things, wanted to go on with the status quo, you're saying yes to something pretty major here. I know I'm...flexible enough to work outside the box. Not that I've ever been outside this particular box, but I figure anything you have a fantasy about, you can actually try. And my fantasy life has always been pretty varied. So the big question is, can you...mfph!" 

The words were cut off because Jim Ellison had grabbed him up and had plastered their faces together. As a kiss it was sloppy, off center and intense. It lasted until Blair was gasping for breath. 

"Whoa. Guess you can." Sandburg panted. 

"I don't know. Don't know how far I can take this." Ellison's confession was made into Sandburg's neck, as if he couldn't say it to his face. "I've never done this. I'm not sure I _can_ do this." 

"Hey. It's something to learn. You learn it the way you learn anything. Break it down to pieces that are the right size for you to absorb and then immerse yourself in the subject. Right?" Sandburg was looking up into his partner's eyes at that point and was trying to ease away the wildness he saw there. "It will be okay, we'll learn what we can give each other, how much." He took a deep breath. "The only decision you have to make tonight is about how - and when - you want to begin. Nothing says it has to be now." 

"Even if I want...something? Now?" 

Sandburg said, "Whatever it is, I get to dry my hair first." Which made Jim laugh, as it was supposed to. "I didn't bring a hair dryer, thinking I'd be camping all weekend and not washing the hair until I got back. So this might take awhile." 

"But I get to help." It was a statement, not a request. 

Sandburg blinked and said, "If you want." 

Ellison, who had always been secretly fascinated by the long hair, went and brought the last dry towel from the bathroom. He got to touch the hair, pat it with the towel and hold part of it up out of the way, and comb through it with his fingers. Got to feel the warm scalp and draw in the scent of Sandburg and bask in the having-him-close. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time I got accidentally sucked off by a guy at a frat party?" Sandburg asked, pretty much out of the blue, from behind his curtain of hair. 

Ellison's fingers froze, buried in the long hair. "I don't think you did," he said in a flat voice. 

"Well, it was an accident that I got the benefit of it. His buddies set him up and he was really drunk. So was I, but not as much as he was. But that's pretty much the extent of my walk on the wild side of that street. I did a threesome once a couple of years ago, but the other guy...it was more of a taking turns with her sort of thing, instead of everybody making love." 

Sandburg was plainly waiting for something. Only Ellison did not have much to offer. "I only know what I saw occasionally in Vice. But I guess, between movies and the busts, I saw almost everything there was to see." 

"And?" When Ellison didn't answer he said, "There's an `and' in your voice. Or maybe it's a but." 

"Maybe there are some things I can't ever do." It was said slowly, with caution, and Sandburg heard a dragging trepidation, too. It was a real fear. 

"So what? We'll find out what is right for us. Maybe we won't do...everything. We don't have to. It will still work. We've got that balance thing you pointed out, where things between us have never been completely equal, yet we still managed to get things worked out. Eventually," he added, just to be honest. He shook his hair back and said, "The hair is dry enough. Do you want to turn out the light, crawl into that bed," he pointed at the one furthest from the window, "and...see what happens?" He said it a little fast, betraying how important it was. 

"Yes." 

"I'll catch the light." 

Putting off the moment? It was awkward, really awkward. Ellison hesitated, wondering if he should take off his boxers. If Blair would want.... 

"I warn you, my feet are cold. And have I told you how glad I am NOT to be out in a tent in the rain?" Sandburg was making his slow way towards the bed, hands out in front of him. He paused as he came up against the edge, felt around, climbed in, found the cover and pulled it up. "Hey, man, where are you?" he asked. 

"Here." He slid into bed quickly, before his uncertainty could change his mind. 

But Blair reached out and took hold of him, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close, burrowed against him and it was strange. Nice, but strange. While he was getting used to it, Blair started taking again. 

"Funny it happened here. And now. In a neutral place, you know, not at home." 

"In a pink motel?" Ellison asked, shifting slightly, moving his arm so it rested more comfortably. He was very aware of the hair on Sandburg's chest. How wide the shoulders were. And Sandburg's feet were cold. Really cold. Jim moved to warm them, angling his leg so that the cold toes were pressed against it. 

"That feels good. Hey, man. If I'd known about the foot thing, you'd have had me in bed a lot sooner," Sandburg joked. He was nervous, too. Ellison could hear it. For some reason it made him feel better. 

"Sandburg?" he said, uncertainly, and was drawing in breath to say the name again when he felt the soft brush of lips against his. 

Oh. 

His mouth lifted as he unconsciously reached for those lips again. The lips were close and he wrapped his arms around broad shoulders as he pressed up. Hot wet lips, shared labored breath. His grip tightened. He followed those lips as they twisted against his, pressing hard, harder. 

Had to breathe. His body demanded it, and he ended up panting into sweaty Sandburg neck. It smelled great. All of Sandburg smelled great. His tongue went out to taste. The body beside his convulsed, jerked back, and Jim slipped and sprawled out over Blair, landing hard. 

"Ooof! Dammit, Jim!" 

"Ticklish?" He asked, interested. 

"Sensitive would be a better description. Because I would like to point out that I was not laughing. Tickling makes people laugh. Or cry or fight to get away. The research about concealed aggression and tickling is interesting, if you...." The renewed application of Jim's lips to his lost the rest of the observation. Not to mention the hand that was groping at his waist. 

So strange, the way they made love, faces kissing above the covers, while their hands, below the covers, were seeking, touching, learning. And ditching the boxers. The feel of Sandburg's hands on his hips, on his thigh, on his penis left him trembling, and his attempts to return the favor only intensified it. A whole world, learned by touch, but Ellison's touch was the most sensitive on the planet. 

"Oh god your hands," Ellison said breathlessly. 

"You're big," Sandburg whispered. 

"You too," Ellison replied, voice equally soft. The banality of their words had so little to do with what he was feeling, both with his hands and his heart. How could you describe those textures, the so-different-and-yet-so-familiar hips and belly and hair and skin and-everything? And their lips met again, opening to mouths and tongues and breath hot against hot. They were wiggling, fighting the covers until they were closer. 

"Jim?" 

It was all he needed, the name like a match which set him on fire. He clutched hard, pulling Blair to him, and came into the rough hairs just below Blair's navel. The feel of it on his skin made the other man moan, claw back at him, hunching frantically. Jim drew in breath in a hard gasp as he felt the hot flow against his skin. They panted in the dark, a strange unison of hard-drawn air, and he thought Blair would have something to say but he seemed stunned into silence for once, and while he was waiting for Sandburg to start talking, Jim drifted off into sleep. 

Four in the morning. The electric light seemed weak and pale inside the motel room. It was still pitch black outside. They were up, showering, dressing, and then packing up, loading the truck. They were the only creatures stirring on main street. The air was cold and thick with moisture. The rain had evolved into a heavy mist that would probably burn off when the sun came up. The truck's headlights reflected off the black, wet street. Ellison poured over a map at the convenience store as Sandburg poured out coffee from the thermos he had just had filled. Silent because it was part of the dark magic of the hour, they drove along the dark roads. They arrived at the campground at the base of the trail, parked, gathered what they needed and hiked to the river. The sky had changed from one hue of black to the next, heralding dawn, as Ellison made his first cast. 

Sandburg hunkered down on a gravel bar, unfolded the portable grill and started a small fire. He listened to the soft sounds of the river and to his fisherman, listened to the night as he heated water for tea and got out the eggs and bacon. Restless, he stood up and moved down to the edge of the water, closing his eyes and listening. The river tugged at him. For just a moment he was the river, the heavy press of water on water, a roiling froth of white at the extremities, an old path to the sea right and true in almost every way. Instinctively he sought out the not-right, the thread of it winding through the forest along the path of the river. People. Then he let it go because it did not demand otherwise, and he was back at the river. Dawn was struggling against the encompassing grey of the cloud-sky. The dim outline of the trees could be seen now, black-green against the sky. A bird called and then another. Soon the birds were making a racket. He turned and saw Jim wading back along the edge of the river, holding out a large fish. 

He took the fish, and his other hand closed on Jim's forearm for a moment, holding the bigger man in place while he took a kiss from the chilled lips. Then he let go and watched his Sentinel go back to the river, moving upstream this time. He cleaned the fish, letting the entrails float away on the water and remembering arguments for and against it he'd heard in a class he'd taken...he paused, fish and knife in hand. Fifteen years ago? Heard long forgotten voices arguing that it wasn't pollution because the fish removed from the ecosystem meant nutrients were lost to it, that cleaning the fish into the water put at least some of them back, and besides then the bears weren't attracted to the human camps. And the other side saying that it was pollution to put fish guts into water that might eventually go into municipal systems, that burying them gave nutrients to the land. 

In his case he was thinking of Jim and his sensitive nose. Which followed the scent of cooked fish back to the camp twenty minutes later, as the morning broke properly. They feasted on fish fried with bacon, the eggs set aside for lunch. Hot tea, only slightly sweetened rounded out the meal. 

"Want to get in a little more fishing?" Sandburg asked. 

"Yeah," Ellison tilted his head, listening. "But there's a family hiking up the trail this way. We could head up to the creek instead. Fish the beaver pond up there." They cleaned up the camp, leaving behind almost no sign that they had been there, fish bones buried under big rocks. The sun was struggling out, turning the water bright and giving a tang to the air. The two men hiked along the edge of the river, listening to the noisy birds and the swift water. They turned where a small creek entered the larger river, and soon they reached the wide marshland where several generations of beavers had slowed the flow and created deep brown pools in the shadows. 

Jim was fishing now for the skill of it, having little luck luring the fish from the depths of the quiet pools. They hiked more than they fished, and finally stopped to drink water from their bottles and stand, listening. The Sentinel listened to the actual sounds, the Guide was listening along lines of force that he couldn't see to explain, but sensed they were there. He only realized he was doing it as he did it, and he blinked his surprise. 

So that's how it was supposed to work. 

"That is so weird," Sandburg whispered, shaking his head as they started walking again. 

"What do you hear?" Ellison asked quietly. 

"Layers. It's like hearing layers of things. Or, like hearing webs. People are noisy, you know? And on some level underneath they make noise, too. And I can kind of see what some of the books, the authors, I read were trying to say, only there just aren't the words for it so what they wrote is wrong. Or not right, the way _I_ perceive it, and what if the perception is keyed to the individual and it's different for each person? It's not like you hear anything, or see it-something just leads you to it." He shook his head, "I've been pretty dismissive of some of the books I've read because the new age flakes that are involved-there are some deluded people out there, playing at all this. Believing something on faith because they want it to be real, but they're not really connected to it. Not really seeing it, or maybe seeing only part of it? Which doesn't seem to stop them from writing books or giving seminars. Like blind people believing in color, which exists, but they've never seen it themselves so what they say when they discuss it is...." 

"Sandburg. What do you hear?" Ellison asked again, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"Nothing. Everything is quiet. Why?" 

"I was thinking of kissing you." He made it sound so reasonable. Practical. 

"You should do that," Sandburg said with a nod. "Right here, man." He pointed to his mouth. 

"Only there?" Ellison teased. 

"Whoa. Somebody's adventurous," he smiled at Jim. "The wilderness brings it out in you?" he asked. 

"Who knew?" It was some time later when the sun shifted from behind a cloud and bathed them in sunlight that they looked up. 

"Are we taking this any further?" Sandburg asked. His hair was coming loose from the thong which tied it back, his lips were red and his cheeks flushed, and the blue of his eyes was sparking and bright. And there was a hickey on his neck right at the edge of his collar. 

"I...the ground is wet," Ellison said with regret, looking around. 

"And I am SO not doing this up against a tree. Ever try to get pine sap out of hair?" Sandburg canted his eyes towards Ellison's head without much hair and said, "Never mind. We might be going a bit fast anyway. Don't want to scare you off." 

Jim snorted. 

Sandburg went on. "I've been thinking about the pace of things. About milestones. I was thinking maybe we could....okay, I admit that I've got an interest in the place of ritual and ceremony in life. I was thinking that we should....well, it should take awhile to get the cabin we want. Nobody ends up with the first place they look at, right? But maybe the first time we..." he paused. Ellison mouthed `fuck?' at him and then ducked the swat that came his way. "Yeah, well, that," Sandburg nodded. "We could do it for the first time in our new place. Make it a consecration of the place, and the...union. At the same time." 

"Give us lots of time to work up to it?" Ellison asked. 

"Take the pressure off. There's a pressure there, you know? I was thinking about it this morning while I was cooking breakfast. Nothing like crouching around a campfire - which is pretty basic human activity, we've done it for thousands of years - to do some real thinking about other basics. I mean, what is it about the ultimate consummation? There's no law that says that a relationship _has_ to have certain components. But there I was, wor-thinking about it. But we-that's the societal we-- fall into these patterns, man, these expectations, and....." 

Ellison said softly, "You're afraid of it, too." 

Sandburg blinked in surprise but answered, "Damn right. And I appreciate the `too' because I think you're taking it better than I am. Not that I'm not completely aware that you hide behind your minimalist reactions." He kept his mouth closed about fear based reactions. 

"I thought we were talking about...." 

"Love, sex, being together?" Sandburg said, softly. 

"I've never really got that right," Ellison half-explained. "Dating. Getting along with people. Even marriage. I could do most of it. Even do it well. But it never went smoothly. Naturally. All of it was work, and some things, no matter how hard I worked at it, just didn't...work." He gave Sandburg a shove on the shoulder as the younger man laughed at his word choice. 

"Maybe," Ellison went on, "I was just doing it wrong. With the wrong people." 

"The right people being guys? Guides?" 

"Shamans. Sandburgs? Could be you're going to be hard work, too." He sound resigned, but not necessarily unhappy. 

Sandburg laughed. Then he said, "Whoa." 

Ellison's head went up. "What?" 

"Hey, stand down. No threat, just a really bizarre thought. I mean, it would so explain the women you end up with - and why they are invariably so wrong for you. Misinterpretation of signals. The Shaman wavelength, which is pretty weird, must be next to the also weird signals put out by beautiful criminal ladies. You're looking for love in all the wrong places. We gotta teach you to fine tune that particular dial." 

"Sandburg. You are so full of shit." 

Sandburg's response was non-verbal and involved the old fashioned type of digital display. "Are you ready to hike on?" 

"Depends. Do you want to look at property some more? And do you want to camp around here tonight or go find another place?" 

"There was another trail, right? Why don't we try that? If we started now we could hike until about noon, set up camp, have lunch, have a nap, you could fish some more in the evening." And then.... Their eyes met but neither of them voiced what was in their thoughts. 

"It's a plan." They started back. The trail wasn't wide and they hiked single file, Ellison in front, Sandburg several steps behind. They reached the parking lot and moved the truck to a better parking spot and were pulling supplies out of the lockbox when Ellison lifted his head. He answered the question before Sandburg could voice it. 

"Motorcycle. Mechanical problems." 

"Huh," Sandburg said. He could hear it now, too. The trademark Harley roar was currently more of a coughing choke. He stepped out beyond the truck and waved the bike over. "Bring it over here under this tree," he said when they were close enough. Then he went, rummaged in the cooler and pulled up two bottles of water. "Here," he said. 

The two who climbed off the bike were dressed in worn denim, their helmets battered and scuffed, their boots in similar shape. The helmets came off, revealing one man and one woman, both in their early twenties. Boone and May, local inhabitants on their way to work at a dude ranch. Boone was more worried about their transportation, May about missing work. 

"Hey," Sandburg said calmly. "No problem. We throw the bike in the back of the truck and deliver you to work." Which was a whole lot easier to say than do. It took all four of them, to haul the thing up and into the bed of the truck. Then, since four people didn't fit into the cab of the pick-up, Sandburg volunteered to ride in the back. He could tell Ellison wasn't happy with having him back there. Or maybe he just wasn't happy to have two strangers for company instead. But he didn't say anything. 

So Sandburg found himself sitting in the back, smelling the wonderful air, the wind and sun against his skin and watching the world go by backwards as they wound down the mountain. It brought back memories. Lots of hitchhiking, time spent on the road with the kid stuck wherever convenient. Froze his ass off in the back of a truck more than once while Naomi was in cozy and warm in the cab chatting with the guy who picked them up. He'd seen a lot of America - and a few other countries -- this way. Backward, seeing it fading away behind. But you got a good view back here, a whole three hundred degree panorama. 

He tried to remember if he was breaking the law. Most states had laws now about riding in the back of trucks. Hell, they had laws about _dogs_ riding in the back of the truck in some places. He thought about how it would be to have crowded all of them into the cab. Squashed up against Jim. 

Oh, yeah. 

Probably it was better out here. For everybody. 

Should have taken Jim up on his against-the-tree offer. He threw his head back, closed his eyes and let the sun warm his skin while his imagination played. 

The dude ranch and lodge was exactly what he didn't like about what happened when mankind collided with nature. Although the fences were rustic hewn logs set in huge X shapes between stone posts, the lawn was bright and artificial, the flowers in boxes standing in hard rows. The stables were big and the horses shiny and well groomed. They pulled in behind the barn. 

"Yeah, thanks," Boone was saying as he swung out of the truck. "If you can get the part I can work on it during lunch. I can't tell you what that would mean," he said. He dug into his wallet and held out two twenties, which Ellison slipped into his pocket. Jim Ellison's face had that sort of pinched look he got in the face of applied gratitude, but he gave a short nod. 

"We'll be back soon," Ellison said. Sandburg leaped out of the back of the truck with tolerable grace and then climbed up into the cab again. 

"Trip to town?" 

"Yeah," Ellison said. "But they gave me directions to a camping spot they recommended. There's a sort of waterfall." 

"Yeah? Sounds good." 

"Change in plans okay with you?" 

"Hey. It's the trip, not the destination. Besides, I have this urge for ice cream. Turning out to be a nice day," he added. "Warm." 

Yeah." 

They drove in silence until they reached town, rode around until they found the repair place, and inside the cool garage they poked through dusty bins and compared prices, chatted with the owner. The total of the bill was $67.55 and Sandburg smiled because he knew his partner wasn't going to ask for the the extra but just hand the parts and tools over and leave before he could be thanked. Pretty decent guy to have for a partner, he thought as they drove off to get ice cream. 

The ice cream had to hold him for a bit longer than he planned because the drive to get to the place Boone had described took about twice as long as the man had said. After they had dropped off the parts they had driven for almost an hour up into the mountains. They road they had to take was rutted and too muddy - they almost got stuck twice and it was a tribute to Ellison's driving that they managed to make it up to the really crude camp ground. 

But it was worth every minute of it. The camp was almost at the crest of the mountain, where the end of the road just petered out and ended in a wide circle of gravel. And there was nobody there. A picnic area sprawled on the right side. It was only crude wooden tables in an irregular circle, with a built-in grill of bricks that must have been fifty years old. Across the road was an old-fashioned outhouse, unpainted wood with moss growing on the north side. 

The view beyond the tables was outstanding. The mountains fell away, a vista of heavy lines and layers, each a different color or hue. Down the slope about a quarter mile away was a creek, just big enough for fishing, a little swollen with run-off from the storm last night. 

They found a place to put up the tent, a few hundred yards down the slope in a small open meadow, hidden from the picnic area by a stand of young trees. Working together they had the camp all ready in thirty minutes, and then Ellison made huge sandwiches and opened the bag of chips, while Sandburg coaxed a small flame from the Coleman stove so that they could heat tea to go with the sandwiches. 

They finished eating, hiked up to the outhouse, then down to the creek where they washed in the clear cold water. Dark half-trails led into the forest. The creek glittered in the sun. 

"Want to take a hike? Or that nap?" Ellison asked. He wasn't looking at Sandburg, but at something over his left shoulder. 

"Oh...the nap, I think. Don't you?" 

"Will I get any sleep?" Ellison asked dryly. 

"Oh, yeah." 

The inside of the tent was warming, the air slow and still. The sun through the treated canvas made the interior a glowing golden brown. They unrolled their sleeping bags, spreading them out one on top of the other to make a comfortable bed. Their coats were folded into pillows. They didn't take off their clothing, only their boots and they stretched out on the makeshift bed. Sandburg crawled close to Ellison, buried his face in his neck, nuzzled there a moment, took a deep breath-and fell asleep. 

"Well, damn," Ellison said. His own fault for getting the kid up that early. But it was nice holding Blair. And they'd gotten up early. And.... 

Over an hour later, the sound of a car pulling in woke them both. "A family on a Saturday picnic," Ellison reported as they sat up and pulled on their boots. 

"We need to scrounge some dry firewood," Sandburg said. "We could have a real campfire tonight. We brought marshmallows," he reminded his friend. 

"You find the firewood, I'll make the firepit," Ellison suggested. They got to work, Ellison hunkered down selecting rocks and making his circle like it was rocket science. Sandburg didn't criticize. Ellison's grills were always level and at the right height, his fires just right for the occasion, whatever it was. He always had a pail of water not far away and his camp shovel within reach. 

Sandburg wandered down towards the creek, searching out the dryer wood deep under large trees and in other protected areas. He ended up hauling a sapling sized deadfall from under a larger tree and taking the small hatchet to it. They soon had the fire all ready for a match. 

As the afternoon became late Ellison went and got his pole, Sandburg got the bug spray and they fished through the dinner hour, hiking along the banks until they reached the small waterfall. It was a pocket Venus of a fall, maybe fifteen feet high and coming over a rock ledge into a wide deep pool. The water at the edges fell in a delicate spray, then towards the middle it the water came down in narrow streams the width of ribbons, some in thin sheets, rich with amber colors from the setting sun. 

It was also home to the most ferocious mosquitoes in the state. They didn't stay long but took their three modestly sized fish and hiked back. Ellison cleaned the fish while Sandburg got the rest of the meal. There were potatoes fried with the fish, fresh fruit and camp biscuits. They finished eating and cleaned up just about at nightfall, and Ellison reported when the family up the hill packed up and drove off. 

They were alone. The stars struggled out, fighting clear of the wisps of clouds drifting across the sky. Ellison fed more wood to his fire, looking to one side and not staring directly into the leaping flames. Sandburg got out the marshmallows but didn't put them onto the sticks yet. Sitting on low flat rocks, side by side, they sat silently for a long time. 

"This is so strange," Sandburg said softly after awhile. "It ought to be more...be awkward. But sitting here with you just seems...right." 

"It's right." 

"I know." 

Ellison's arm slid behind him, the broad fingers curving along the line of his hip. Sandburg tilted his head, resting it for a second against Ellison's shoulder and then Sandburg asked, "Ready for a marshmallow?" 

"Sure." 

"One divine gooey mess, coming up." He toasted the first one to perfection, waited until it was cooled a little, and offered it, held lightly between two fingers. 

Jim opened his mouth for it, closing his mouth around more than the sweetness, his tongue sliding along the edge of the fingers. 

"How did I miss the fact that you're so damn sexy?" Sandburg asked, taking his fingers back reluctantly. He poked another marshmallow on the end of his forked branch and held it over the coals. 

"You knew. We both knew." 

"Unconsciously, you mean? So why didn't it ever impinge on my supposedly bright brain?" The second marshmallow was ready. He tasted it cautiously, seemingly unaware of bright eyes fastened on his mouth as his lips opened and his tongue reached out. 

"We weren't ready." The rest of the words Ellison had once spoken to him echoed between them, but neither man let the reference distract them. 

"I'm wondering about that. It occurred to me that if I wasn't ready because I hadn't made that final step into shamanism - I mean, I finally do and only a few hours later, bam. The clue bus stops at my stop. And only when it stopped at my stop could you get on next?" 

"As soon as you were ready, I was ready?" Ellison considered that silently. 

"More like a puzzle. You put in a piece, I put in a piece, and suddenly, it's clear where everything belongs." 

"Together." 

Sandburg nodded. "And speaking of together," he said, with feigned casualness as he set aside the marshmallows and stick, "you want to call it a night?" 

"Okay." Together they doused the fire, put the food safely away, and silently went through their evening routine. They went together into the tent, and started to undress. 

"This is no fair. You can see me, but I can't see a thing," Sandburg complained. 

"Want me to close my eyes?" 

It made Sandburg laugh. "I don't care. As long as you kiss me." 

"I can do that." And touch at the same time. The naked bodies touched, bumped, they twisted and sank down to the sleeping bag. Groins matched, they rubbed against each other, hands helping, mouths roaming to necks and ears and back again. It was embarrassing how quickly they came to orgasm. Five minutes after they started they were panting into each other's necks, sticky and replete. 

"I was planning on something a little more sophisticated," Blair moaned as he rolled onto his back. "I think I just regressed back to seventeen." 

"Here," Jim said, and handed him a damp cloth. 

"Thanks. I mean, talk about a one minute mile. I swear, I...." 

"It was perfect," Jim said. 

"Uh-" 

"It was perfect. We can practice again in the morning." 

"It will be damn cold in the morning. But...okay, sure. I just didn't want to...but I guess things are different with a guy." 

"Guaranteed," Jim said, with a soft laugh. Then, very seriously, he said, "I...like this." They were crawling into the bed made by the sleeping bags, twisting around to find the comfortable spot. They ended up with Sandburg's back to Jim's chest, spooned together. "You are going to move upstairs? When we get home?" 

"First thing, Jim. Never sleeping alone again," Blair promised. 

"Good." 

"Yeah. Good." 

They made love the next morning before breakfast and again after they took the tent down. Neither occasion lasted notably longer than the one the night before, to their amused chagrin. They hiked around a bit more, had lunch by the waterfall, and soon afterwards packed up and headed back. By mutual consent they wanted to get home early enough to do some rearranging of the loft. When nightfall came again, Blair's room was an office with a futon in the corner in case they had overnight guests. All his stuff was up stairs, and he was bouncing on the edge of the bed speculatively. He looked up and saw Jim standing at the top of the stairs, looking at him. He scrambled up, grinned, and started to strip. 

And this time they managed to make it last a whole lot longer. 

**FIVE DAYS LATER**

Friday afternoon with Major Crimes. Almost every desk was full as the detectives and support staff all hurried to finish up before the weekend. Half those present were intermittently watching the clock, and the other half were keeping an eye out for Simon Banks so they could turn in paperwork or touch base before leaving. 

Scent. The sharp smell brought Ellison's head up. He had been bending over the computer all day doing background checks to help out Rafe, who was trying to reduce the number of suspects in his rape-murder from forty-five to any number smaller than that. Sandburg had been working on their own paperwork at the next desk. As Jim's head went up, Sandburg's automatically followed, and he looked to see what had caught Jim's attention. 

"Wood smoke," Ellison murmured softly. 

A woman was threading her way through the desks towards them. She was some indeterminate age on the other side of sixty. Or maybe even seventy. Her hair was grey and cut short in a blunt bob without a bit of curl to it. Her face was round and darkly tanned, eyes brown and small behind gold-rimmed glasses. She was taller than Sandburg, square and stocky, carrying her weight easily. She stopped in front of Sandburg's desk. 

"May I help you?" Sandburg asked, rising. 

"Now that's nice. Manners _and_ good grammar." She shook her head but went on to say, "Which one of you is Ellison and which one is Sandburg?" 

"I'm Blair Sandburg, that's James Ellison. Here, would you like a chair?" 

He pulled it out but she took it from him, straddled it and looked from one to the other for a moment. "I'm Ellen Seiferbach. Got a note that said you want to buy some land." 

Sandburg had sat down when she did, and suddenly he straightened up, his eyes wide. "Yes." 

"What did you have in mind?" she asked. Her hand went to her neck, and Sandburg noticed a few beads there, on a leather thong. 

"Well, a lot less than before we started pricing places in the mountains. We want a somewhere for a home base so we can get away to the mountains more. We both like camping, and don't get away enough." 

"So you're not wanting my whole 180 acres, just a slice off one side?" she asked. 

"180 acres is so far beyond our price range you can not believe. We're just cops, you know?" Sandburg waved a hand in the general vicinity of the bullpen. "And I have student loans to pay off." 

"It's a good thing you don't want the whole thing. I'm never selling it. I'm going to die up there on that mountain, and until that day it's going to me my mountain. But I have been thinking of selling off a few acres right at the turn-off from the road. I figure with a cabin in the right spot there, the road up to my place would look like a driveway. And I'd get less tourists. I've had people actually disassemble the damn gate so they can drive up there. Frighten the deer, let the horses out. Hunters who can't see the no-trespassing signs, campers who can't read - the land butts up against National Forrest on one side for a few acres - and hiker's who leave glass bottles and beer cans in their wake." She shook her head and then looked over at Ellison, meeting his eyes. "If I sold it, I'd have to have a right of way through the land for my road. Not everybody would like that." 

Sandburg was nodding as she spoke. "A few acres," he repeated. 

"I can use the money to pay the taxes, which get higher every year. I figure everybody can come out ahead on this because my price to you will be reasonable. You get a cabin you'll use mostly on weekends, but weekends will be when I want you there. And I'll get cops living down by the road, discouraging uninvited guests. And on top of that, I'll give you the right to camp -- to fish and hike most the land I have, any time - if you'll also boot off any trespassers or poachers you find while you're there." 

Sandburg laughed. "Like the gatehouse on an English estate." 

"Yeah, and with groundskeepers - isn't that what they called them? too." She smiled, showing small yellowed teeth. 

Ellison spoke for the first time. "We never know when we'll be able to get away. It may not be as often as you'd want." 

"Just having the house there should discourage some folks. Be best if the cabin was just visible from the road. Not too small. Not too prosperous, either, don't want break-ins when you're not there." 

"How much land?" Ellison asked. 

"Depends. Up to ten acres, but they all have to be in a one or two acre strip along the highway. Also you'd have to agree that you won't be reselling to anyone for at least ten years. At that, I'd want to know the person you're selling to. Nothing worse than bad neighbors." 

"We'd be in trouble if they ever wanted to widen the highway." Ellison said slowly. 

"Not likely to happen soon and they own the twelve feet out from the edge of the pavement anyway. Better make it a two acre wide strip." She took a breath and said, "Thousand dollars an acre. The price is only for you," she added, as Sandburg reacted. He'd expected ten or twenty times that. 

"You don't know us," Ellison said slowly. "Except that we're cops." He was suspicious of the low price, turning it around in his mind, trying to see the catch. 

"I'm not stupid. I looked into it. Asked around. The nice ladies at the library will help you do an Internet search," she said with a smile. "I know a lot about you. Get yourself in the news at regular intervals, both of you. Cop of the Year," she added. 

"Then you know not all of the news has been positive." Ellison said. 

"I got my own opinions on that," the woman said. "And I'm getting old, not stupid. I know what sort of neighbors I want. You'll do." 

"All ten acres," Ellison said decisively. "If we get on it right away, we could have a cabin up by the end of the summer." He flushed red when Sandburg's head whipped around, his blue eyes wide. 

"We got a deal?" Seiferbach asked. 

"We do," Sandburg said, and put out his hand. She had a firm shake and her hands were calloused and rough. She extended her hand to Ellison next, her hand squeezing his once before she let go. He added, "Assuming we can get all the details worked out to your satisfaction." 

"I'll get the lawyer started. You come up next weekend and see me. I don't make that offer to many, but there's a few things I want to show you. You boys ride?" she asked. 

"Horses? Yeah," Sandburg said. 

"Good. I warn you that I don't have a single horse worth shit. They're all rescues or old or nasty tempered. But they'll all take a saddle." 

"You don't have a phone. The problem with police work is it isn't nine to five. Sometimes things come up," Sandburg said apologetically. "We might get stuck here." 

"So show up at the gate Saturday morning with a couple of bedrolls and some steaks. If you don't show, I'll look for you the next weekend." With a nod she turned and left, striding out without looking back. 

"Amazing," Sandburg said as he watched her go. Then he added, "You know I don't have ten thousand dollars saved yet." 

"I do." 

"Yeah, but the deal was that I pay for this." 

"So when you get the loan for the cabin, pay me back then. Can't let a deal like this get by us. You know land up there goes for six, ten, twelve thousand dollars for a tiny little lot." Ellison reminded him. 

"Yeah, but I sort of envisioned a small cabin perched high on a mountain a million miles away. Not something on the highway. Even a small highway like that one." 

"We said we wanted a base so we could go hiking and camping from there. If we have the cabin not far from the road, we'll usually be able to get to the cabin no matter what time of the year, won't have to maintain a lot of road, or buy an SUV." 

Sandburg snorted. "As if." 

"I know your opinion of them, Mr. Environmentalist." He shoved Sandburg lightly, Sandburg shoved back, and from behind came a booming voice. 

"Do the detectives find themselves with nothing to do?" Banks asked, stopping to loom over them. 

"Your detectives just cornered ten acres of mountain land and are planning their cabin!" Sandburg said, his exuberance bursting through as he did a little victory dance in his chair. 

"You just started looking this week. Sure you want to take the first thing that comes by?" Banks asked. 

"It's got this sweetheart deal with it," Sandburg began. 

"Which we are going to get in writing," Ellison interjected. 

"Which will allow us access to the adjacent land," Sandburg went on. "Which is nice. Not nice like where your cabin is. Drier. But you'll like it. We'll invite you up." 

"I'll accept. Meanwhile...." 

"Aye aye, Captain," Sandburg laughed, waving a file folder in the air. "Right on it." 

Ellison was already bent over his keyboard. 

Banks snorted and strode off to his office. 

Sandburg had his folder open and was sorting through the contents. "What did you get from her?" he asked. 

"Not much. Uses generic shampoos and soap. The smoke smell comes from heating with wood fires. It sort of soaks into your clothing." 

Sandburg nodded. "She seemed tired to me. I... When I, you know, looked?" Sandburg touched his temple. Ellison nodded, knowing what was meant, "I saw a very small hawk diving from the sky and coming up again clutching a huge rabbit. The hawk flew off with it, silently, into the mountains." 

"But what's it mean?" Ellison asked. 

"Hell if I know. This stuff doesn't come with a manual, and from what I read, it's a bit unique to each person anyway. And each culture. And since our culture doesn't even have that connection to the mystical..." he shook his head and reshuffled the papers. 

"Blair?" 

His name. Sandburg lifted his head. 

"It was up to you to say yes or no. I was out of line." 

"Really? I thought you were just," Sandburg flashed him a smile, "eager to get the cabin built? Because of what comes with it?" No, it wasn't the thought of the cabin itself that made his own eyes gleam. 

Ellison's ears went a little pink. "Thing is. Yeah. I think that's it." 

"Want to re-think our time line? Move something up on the agenda?" Sandburg asked. He watched a small shiver flow across the wide torso and smiled again. 

"I think you should call those friends of yours with the cabin building business. For some estimates." 

Sandburg tossed his folder down on the desk and reached for the phone. Ten minutes later he said, "They have an opening in August and one in September. Prices start at twenty-four five. Not including septic tank and plumbing, electrical and permits. They're sending out the packet." 

"Huh," said Ellison. "So call the bank." 

"I'd feel bad about this, Simon having just reminded us so kindly of our duty, if we hadn't had to stay until seven or later every day this week. Hello? May I speak to a loan officer, please?" 

Ellison shook his head and went back to his computer. Rafe came by and collected the print-outs and wandered off again. 

**FRIDAY NIGHT**

Ellen Seiferbach had climbed the slope behind her cabin hundreds of times. It was getting harder every year, and she dreaded the moment that would come soon. When she couldn't force her legs to take her up there, to the highest point on her land. Not much up there, really. Good view, but then it was just as good down by the cabin. Windy up here, too. Sometimes. But everything important was up here, really, and it was a great place to think. To remember. 

She was panting by the time she lowered herself down on the low flat rock to rest. Her lungs settled down a bit and she leaned back against the sun-warmed rock to watch the sunset. Small slivers of orange were just beginning to gather at the edges of the clouds. 

"Well, Joe. I've gone and done it now. And, hello, Dad." She always spoke to Joe first, maybe because he'd died first. Loved her dad, too, but it was Joe she still remembered so clearly, while her father's face had dimmed from her memory over the years. Odd, with her dad being considered so handsome, and her Joe - well, he hadn't been a beauty queen, that's for sure. Only a good man. A strange one, her dad had been right about that. But good. 

"You wouldn't believe what your Sweets has done now," she said. Sweets. Joe had called her Sweets, as in white sugar, because her skin had been so pale beside his. And she'd been one eighth whatever the family would never talk about, not exactly white. 

"I went down to the city and I did it. Did my best, anyway. Hell, Joe, I'm sure I did do it. I hijacked their Sentinel." She grinned, happy with the thought. "Tried to anyway. Guess time will tell how successful I was. Got them for us part time, for now. Couldn't believe it when I saw their names on that card Bets sent.. Went down to the library and looked at all the archives, read up on everything again. It was them! The ones in the news. Remember, how they said he was a Sentinel and how his friend stood up and called himself a liar? I told you then what I thought about it. To protect him, clear as day. Huh. And that friend. I know what he is. Same thing your brother was. Dream walker. Could see it in his eyes." 

She paused and watched the sky deepen, watched the yellow build, the rose colors increase. "So I'll be selling off a bit of the land. Swore to you I'd never do it, but I have my plan. Good one, too, you'll like it. One of those pretty ones, solves just about everything for us. Won't do either of them any harm. 

"Look what I got for us, Joe. First, I got me someone to take care of those damn tourists who keep wandering over the fence. Your should see this James Ellison. More than six feet of solid man. They're going to listen when he tells them `git!' Told you about those punk kids last year, when I had to go to town and call the sheriff to march them off the land? Damn, it's tough, getting old. Knowing you can't do all you used to. But two men - prime of life, too - and legally carrying guns. Yeah. Yeah. I can see them in my mind. Hiking, along, maybe riding, covering the ground I can't any more. Keeping an eye on your deer. My hawks. All of it. 

"And making love under the trees. Saw that, too. The way they looked at each other. And tough shit, Dad, I know that woulda been a burr under your saddle, but I heard all you had to say about people who fall in love with the wrong people when I brought Joe home. You were wrong about Joe, and you'd be wrong about these two. Jim and Blair. 

"Sentinel needs land to patrol. Needs to get away from people. I'm going to keep those two sane, Joe. They can go on being heroes all they want in the city, but they're going to need the down time. Need what the land gives back. It'll be our land they're tied to." 

She sighed and her fingers absently patted for the cigarettes she had given up almost two decades ago. It made her give a little laugh. Old habits. "So the rest of my plan is this. Got it all figured out. You know I've been worried about the land. What happens to it after I die. Once I was going to deed it to the forest service, but then I read where they swapped some land they got for a different parcel. The people who donated it thought they were preserving it and it had houses all over it inside of a year. I figured out that the government isn't thinking about this little bit of heaven here. They got bigger issues. Besides, being right next to the national forest, all they'll do is expand into here, put up a campground since it has access to the highway. RV's all over the place for the rest of eternity. Crap. 

"No, what I needed to do was find an heir. Damn shame you and I never got around to kids, Joe. Not that I ever thought much of kids, but it's how things manage to go on in this world. With our luck they'd have been drunkards and idiots. Don't forget I knew your cousins. It might of been. So I decided I was going to pick some heirs of my own. Only it never came clear to me who to leave everything to. Ben who brought the groceries is a decent man, only his wife's an idiot. Betty, down in town, she'd be the best, only she's almost as old as me. But this way - two guys without kids - they'll pick who comes after them, too. Pick the right person, not just somebody who gets the job because they were born to somebody. Maybe that Sandburg will know how to set up a foundation or something. I read about some of the projects he's worked on. He was on a committee to protect temperate rain forests when he was at Ranier. He'll know. Know how to do it without breaking the bank. And you know what's in the bank about now. Daddy's inheritance sounded big thirty years ago, but things cost the earth now. Was really worrying how I was going to pay the taxes a few years down the road. And the hay bill. Now I'm not. 

"They're coming next week. I'll show them the beaver ponds and the creek, ride the fence, show them the wolf den and the horses. Let them find the glades and the spring and other good places on their own. Then, not this time, but...later. I'll bring them up here. Eventually I'll show them the top of this mountain. Tell them I want to be up here with you when I die. Have them do the same for me as I did for you. Burn me up, scatter the ashes over the meadow, and bury the hard, gritty bits up here under these rocks. Right on top of you, Joe. Always was the best place to be, anyway. I still remember how it felt, in front of the fire, using your naked chest as a pillow. My hand buried in all that long black hair. That Sandburg boy has hair almost as long as yours was. Brown, though. Bet he'd look pretty draped over his lover. Gotta make sure they put in a fireplace at their cabin. Lord knows there's enough rock down there." 

The sunset had bloomed and was fading now. It was growing colder under the shadow of the old pine trees. She stirred, stood, stretched and looked down the path towards the dark square that was her cabin. Time to go down. But she lingered, her hand at her throat where a leather cord held the beads that Joe had given her. Finally she said, "I am such a scheming old woman. But you know? The sheriff is talking about retiring in a few years. And that Ellison. He looks to be about forty or so. The county could use a good man coming into that job. Sentinel. Huh. Maybe we can pry that man out of Cascade before he burns out. You read about cops burning out all the time. Course, on the other hand, maybe having the land to come home to up here will keep him sane and slaving away down there in Cascade until he dies. Depends on what the other man decides. I can tell that already." 

She started down the rocky path. It was almost dark, but her feet knew the way and she didn't stumble. As she made her way across the yard to the cabin she thought about getting a dog. She'd had two or three over the years. Most of them had just shown up - lost or abandoned over in the forest. But maybe she should go find one. Pick out one for once. She'd picked out good neighbors, she'd picked out her heirs, so how hard would it be to pick out a dog? Huh. Something more to think about. 

Only it wasn't a dog she thought about when she was finally tucked under her quilts that night. For some reason her mind was filled with the image that had come to her earlier. She could see a cabin, see that big Ellison, sitting in front of a low-burning fire. Naked chest. And sprawled all over him, hair loose, shirtless too, Sandburg. Face buried against all that nice skin. Asleep. With the big man, one hand buried in that luxuriant hair, looking down at him. Smiling. 

She smiled too, and drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

End 

Shamanic Acquisition by Tazy: alihotsy@gimmefic.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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